


Then Just Trust Me

by the_most_beautiful_broom



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternative Universe - FBI, F/M, Meet-Cute, whiskey cavalier au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 04:48:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18308510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_most_beautiful_broom/pseuds/the_most_beautiful_broom
Summary: FBI Agent Blake has been nothing but annoyed by the CIA agent who hijacked his mission, so he doesn't know how he can explain the panic that sets in when she gets shot.





	Then Just Trust Me

**Author's Note:**

> Based heavily off a scene from the pilot of Whiskey Cavalier, a show neither well-written nor well-acted, but that pulled off a pretty solid finale.

This was really not how Moscow was supposed to go.

Agent Bellamy Blake turned the wheel of the taxi hard and took a corner on two wheels, wondering when the streets of Lyon became so narrow, and when the trip from the train station to Agent Miller’s house had become so long.

It’d been a simple mission, a recovery. Grab the college dropout who stole encrypted files from the NSA like it was nothing, bring the teen back to Paris HQ, make it back in time to play a couple rounds with Nate.

Then the CIA had intercepted him, he’d intercepted right back, and he and Operative Clarke Griffin had been taking turns zip tying the other to the kid, who was using the bulk of his incredible intellect to referring to them both by their first name, and insisting that they call him Zeke instead of Miles, or ‘the kid’.

Then their pictures had been leaked, four separate teams of bounty hunters turned up at the Lyon train stop, and Griffin had walked away from saving his ass from two amateur hunters and into a Glock 19, and was bleeding out in the backseat of the taxi, insisting she was fine.   

“She’s losing a lot of blood, man.”

Zeke was obediently pressing his rolled-up jacket into Clarke’s side, and when Bellamy’s eyes met his in the rearview mirror, they both read grim panic on the other’s face. Bellamy glanced over shoulder, taking in Clarke’s pale expression and the thin layer of sweat coating her face and turned back to the road, pressing harder on the gas.

“Only a couple more kilometers,” he said, his voice rough to mask the worry, “we’ll be fine.”

They squealed into Nate’s driveway, and Bellamy yanked the keys out of the ignition the moment the car stopped. When he opened the back door, Zeke was already handing Clarke out to him, and he was right, of course, she couldn’t walk like this. When he lifted her, Bellamy pushed down the feeling curling in his gut; she was so small. To small, for the amount of blood on his jacket and in the backseat of the taxi.

He tried not to think about the fact that she curled into his chest, eyes pressed shut and her lips clenched together to try to hide the pain she was in, soft shudders shaking her body.

“You’re okay,” he whispered, not even sure if she could hear him, before he started towards the house.

The door swung on its hinges when he pushed against it; Miller was in the kitchen, and he looked up at the crash. His eyes were quick over the three of them, and Bellamy knew he was adding a lot up.

He’d been AWOL for just over 50 hours, but there’d be plenty of time to explain later.

“Sorry to bust in,” Bellamy said, “Do me a favor and cuff the kid to something.”

“Again with the kid...” Zeke muttered, but held out his wrists to Nate, who dropped the knife he was chopping cucumbers with, and crossed the house in quick strides.  

“Your friend from the bar, I assume?” he asked, grabbing a pair of handcuffs and nodding to Clarke.

Bellamy nodded, setting her down on the table in the dining room. It was a beautiful piece, handmade by artisans in Italy, and he hoped Nate knew how to get bloodstains out of polished chestnut.

“Who knew the CIA found Moscow as interesting as the Bureau does,” he said as affirmation, and Zeke snorted.

Clarke whimpered, an unintentional admittance, and Nate nodded.

“I’ll call for backup,” he said, striding from the room.

“No time,” Bellamy said, gritting his teeth as he peeled up the edge of her shirt. The once-cream fabric was brown and sticky, and Zeke made a nervous sound behind him. “The good news is, it’s a through and through.”

“And the bad news?”

Clarke’s voice was breathless and meagre, her fingers clenched on the sides of the table and she stared at the ceiling.

Bellamy did his best to make his face and voice soothing when he looked up at her. “There doesn’t always have to be bad news.”

He didn’t know what she read in his eyes, but she nodded, just slightly, before her eyes fluttered shut. Nate reappeared with a pillow that he gently fit under Clarke’s head. “Medic’s on the way,” he said quietly, but Bellamy pushed back from the table.

“She can’t wait,” he gritted, shrugging out of his jacket. “A piece of her shirt went in with the bullet; if I don’t get it out now, it’ll go septic.”

“Then I’ll get some towels,” Nate said, not missing a beat. As he left the room, he stopped by the island, wiping the Wustoff on a clean linen, and tossing the handle towards Bellamy. Zeke’s eyes were wide and Bellamy wiped the blade on his jeans, for good measure, before turning back to the table.

“Septic?” Clarke’s voice was stronger, eyes no longer on the roof but wide and fixed on Bellamy, “You said there was no bad news.”

“Yeah, I thought you’d be unconscious by now,” Bellamy leaned closer to the wound, the edges of it jagged and pulsing.

“Wait wait wait you’re not cutting into me with that thing--” Clarke’s voice was thick with panic as her hands let go of the table to push weakly at Bellamy’s.

“Hey, look at me, look at me,” Bellamy said firmly, moving so he was more easily above her. Clarke’s eyes were clouded with fear and pain, flooding with tears as she held herself just short of hysteria. Her teeth clenched and a shaky breath escaped between them and Bellamy watched helplessly as she fought to keep herself lucid. “Look at my eyes, okay?”

Her lip trembled and he could see her pulse pounding in her neck as she focused on him.

“Okay,” he said carefully, urgent but calm, “this ends one of two ways. Either you stop me and this infection kills you--”

“I’ll bleed to death,” she burst, pupils blown, breathless, “it’s a kitchen knife not a--”

“Hey, hey,” he moved again, waited for her eyes to focus on his again. “I’m not going to let that happen.”

Clarke let out another shaky breath, her eyes searching his frantically. Her brow furrowed and her pulse kept it’s staccato, but she stilled slightly.

“Clarke,” he said, and he was sure neither of them missed that it was the first time he’d called her by her given name. “I know it’s not your thing, but you have to start trusting people.”

She shook her head, her eyes fixed on his but struggling to stay open. “I can’t just--”

“Then just trust me.”

Her mouth fell shut and she stared at him intensely, a million unsaid things flying between them. He watched the story in her eyes, the doubt, the terror, the pain, all of it, and he couldn’t help it; his hand raised to brush against her temple. Her eyes fluttered at his touch as he wiped the sweat from her forehead, before lowering his hands again.

“I can’t lose you,” he said, unsure where the depth of this emotion was coming from, but knowing it was the truest thing he’d told her since they’d met, “Not when things were just starting to get interesting.”

Her eyes opened again and she looked up at him, staring again. He got the feeling she could see everything, every part of him that Reyes tried to get him to admit, or that Murphy made fun of him for, she saw it and she knew it. Apparently, it was enough.

Her hands dropped from his wrists.

Her neck twitched, and her jaw clenched as her hands found purchase on the side of the table, and she drew in a trembling breath. “You better give me a cute scar,” she said.  

Bellamy nodded, not surprised be her bravado, but impressed by it. “One,” he counted. “Two...”

He edged the knife into her side before he got to three.

Clarke’s head hit the table when she screamed, an ongoing wail that ended only when her head sagged as she fell unconscious. Zeke swore behind him, and Bellamy clenched his jaw, steeling himself as he felt the knife’s sharp blade cut into her.

He found it.

The scrap of fabric barely the size of a fingernail, blood clumped around it on the end of the Wustoff.

Nate had reappeared with a towel, handed it silently to Bellamy as they both looked at the still woman.

“Stronger than she looks,” his partner said quietly, approving.

Bellamy took the towel, wiping the blade of the knife on it. “And then some,” he agreed.

The cabin was silent then.

Bellamy set about cleaning Clarke’s torso, gently wiping away the fast-drying blood as Nate found a needle and thread to stitch her closed. The men worked quickly, efficiently, years of partnership apparent between the two of them.

“She’s gonna be okay, right?”

Zeke’s voice surprised both of them, and they shared a look before Bellamy nodded over his shoulder.

“She’ll pull through.”

Zeke nodded slowly, and Bellamy hid a smile at the younger man’s heart. Though he’d hacked the government, a hardened criminal he was not.

“Agents.”

All three of them turned at the strong voice at the door; Marcus Kane strode into the room, taking it all in. The bloodied woman, his two best agents, the mission handcuffed to a support beam.

“Sir,” Bellamy said, nodding his respect as their boss came closer and Nate copied the gesture. “Didn’t know you weren’t in Paris.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know,” Marcus reprimanded, looking pointedly at the unconscious CIA operative. “Since you went missing in Moscow.”

“Sir, I can explain--”

But Marcus held up a hand, and he crossed the room lazily.

“Miles Ezekiel Shaw,” he drawled, stopping just before the boy. “I am formally taking you into US custody.”

Zeke held the man’s gaze, proud, even as his hands shifted in the handcuffs.

“I’m not telling you where the drive is,” he said, voice steady, and Bellamy felt something flicker in his chest.

In the past 40 hours, he’d gotten to know the kid. He knew he’d made some questionable decisions, but he also knew that bad decisions didn’t make a bad man. Zeke had refused to tell them where the encrypted drive was stashed, but Bellamy got the feeling that there was more than just self-preservation that had him keeping the secret.

“No need,” Marcus said easily, then looked back at Nate and Bellamy. “Funnily enough, the scanner at the Hague airport picked up a dental implant on this kid’s second mandibular molar. Which, in and of itself isn’t funny. Except that his service record shows that he’s never even had a cavity.”

Bellamy didn’t need to see the scans; the look on Zeke’s face was enough to confirm that Marcus was onto him.

Marcus knelt, the dirt of the country on the wooden floor clinging to his bespoke suit. From his back pocket, he pulled out a pair of pliers, head tilting as he tapped them in front of Zeke’s face. “Let’s have a look at that tooth, yeah?”

Zeke swallowed, but his eyes were unwavering as he stared back at Marcus. “I don’t think so.”

Marcus was quiet for a moment, then he exhaled something of a laugh. He shrugged, transferred the pliers to his other hand and shifted again. Then there was a gun at Zeke’s jaw.

“How about now?”

“Sir--” Bellamy protested, but a look from his commanding officer silenced him.

“Open your mouth, Shaw,” Marcus commanded.

Zeke’s look was murderous, but the gun at his jaw was cold, and he opened his mouth.

Marcus smiled.

He put down the gun, clenched Zeke’s jaw with his hand, and raised the pliers.

Bellamy couldn’t look away; Zeke yelled and Marcus huffed slightly, then the pliers emerged, bloody, clenching something white in their pipe grip.

A tooth.

And inside the tooth, a drive.

“Thank you,” Marcus said, voice smooth, and Zeke turned his head, spitting out blood. Marcus stood, dropping the pliers, looking around the room.

“I’ll leave this,” he said, gesturing to Clarke, “out of my report and take Shaw to Paris myself. Keys?”

Zeke looked up at Bellamy, and he felt both the kid and Nathan’s eyes heavy on him. Before he knew what he was doing, he stepped forward. “Sir,” he began, and knew it was the right choice when he saw the relief on Zeke’s face, “as arresting agent, protocol requires that I bring the suspect in myself.”

Marcus shook his head, disappointed. “Ever the hero, eh, Blake?”

It wasn’t a question, not really, but whatever crossed Bellamy mustn’t have been what Marcus was looking for. Because the man shifted again, and then the gun he’d pointed at Zeke was trained on Miler. And Bellamy should’ve been thinking how to de-escalate the situation, or anything vaguely resembling protocol, but all he could see was the hand holding the gun on his partner. And the finger that clutched the barrel, and the word engraved on the golden ring on it.

“Caute,” Bellamy said, eyes closing as everything suddenly made sense.

How quickly things had turned south in Paris last week, how convenient the close shaves on the last several missions he and Nate had served on.

“What?” Nate asked, eyes not moving from the gun.

“The ring,” Bellamy said, glaring at Marcus. “It says  _Caute_.”

“Family motto,” Marcus said evenly, “It’s Latin; what of it?”

“It’s the last text that was sent to the man I killed on the riverboat in the Seine. It means caution.”

“Wait a minute--” Nate began.

“He’s been selling the evidence and weapons we’ve seized,” Bellamy said, staring down Marcus. “That’s why he sent me after Shaw, the data on that drive is enough to expose him as a thief. And a traitor.”

Marcus was still. Then he smiled. “Well done, Blake,” he said calmly, and then he pulled the trigger.

Nate crumbled but before Bellamy could rush Marcus, the gun was between them.

“Easy there,” the man said, and Bellamy stepped back, hands rising.

This was not how he thought he’d die.

At a safehouse in Lyon, his partner bleeding out beside him, from a bullet his commanding officer had fired. Nate grunted beside him, and Bellamy looked over to see him clutching his stomach. Second gut wound of the day, although he doubted the shot was as tidy as the one that’d taken down Clarke.

Over Marcus’ shoulder, he saw her stir. Jolted awake by the gunshot, she looked carefully over her shoulder, wincing; Bellamy saw her eyes widen as she took in the blood around Nate, the pliers by Zeke, and the gun pointed at his own head. And then she focused on him again and he understood--stall.

“How long has this been going on, Kane?” he said, quickly. “How many missions have you rigged to turn a profit?”

“Save your breath,” Marcus said, shaking his head sadly, “Because of you, I’m going to have to kill all these people.”

Behind him, Clarke was reaching into her pocket, slowly, silently.

“What, was that bloodbath in Frisco because of you?” Bellamy continued, undeterred. “How many hostages died there?”

“So small-minded, Bellamy,” Kane said. “You always choose to see the best in people, that’s the weakest part of you.”

“Apparently I was looking in the wrong places for cowards,” Bellamy said, and Clarke was pulling a wrapper off of something. A light blinked slowly, once twice.

“You think you’re the good guy?” Marcus scoffed. “There are no good guys, Blake, only survivors.”

Clarke moved suddenly, and rolled; Bellamy didn’t know what she’d thrown or what she’d done, but if it was enough for her to wrench her torso that way despite the wound, it was enough for him to not worry about stalling anymore. He ducked, crouching over Nate, and then the room exploded.

Marcus was thrown across the room, and the gun dropped from his hands. Clarke fell off the table and Zeke was coughing through the smoke; Bellamy felt a stinging in his shoulder and ignored it, crawling across the room to them.

“You okay?” he asked Clarke, not trying to understand why he needed the answer to be yes, or the relief when she nodded yes, even as she clenched her teeth. She looked over his shoulder, and her eyes widened; Zeke and Bellamy looked too, and Kane was picking himself up off the floor. Just out of reach, lay the gun.

Zeke moved.

The Wustoff was just at his feet; in a moment, he made the decision and kicked it. Bellamy didn’t think beyond instinct, spun the blade in his fingers, the cool metal sharp and lethal, then gone as it flew across the room.

Lodged in Marcus’ chest.

The man stumbled and the debris kicked up when he fell.

The house was silent.

“Nice aim,” Nate said.

“Nice kick,” Bellamy said, and Zeke tried his best to smile.

“Nice grenade,” Clarke muttered to herself, “Thanks, Griffin.”

Nate laughed, and then Zeke, and Bellamy did too, relief washing over all of them. This was going to be a hell of a mess to try to explain back stateside, but something told him it’d work out alright.

Two weeks later, he had to remind himself of that assurance, waiting in a boardroom in New York city, across from a fast-recovering Agent Griffin. 

She looked good. 

Really good, if he were being honest, just as he remembered her looking when they'd first met. Cheeks healthily flushed, eyes alert, cunning. Vivacious and confident and knowing it, the kind of woman that'd leave anyone breathless. 

"Okay, what?"

He hadn't meant to stare, and realized he was when Clarke raised an eyebrow. 

"Nothing," he cleared his throat.

“Welcome home, agents.”

The doors clanged open and Director Jaha strode into the room, voice booming.

“I want to thank you,” he said, extending a hand to Clarke first, and then to Bellamy, “for stopping a grievous threat to our country. Of course, officially, none of this ever occurred.”

“I’m sorry,” Clarke interrupted, eyes sharp across the long table, “Are you saying you’re going to sweep all of this under the rug?”

“That’s not what he said,” Bellamy said under his breath, “You need to listen more.”

“Don’t tell me,” Clarke’s head snapped to him, “What I need to do.”

“We’re not sweeping it under the rug,” Jaha said, and Bellamy wasn’t sure if he was imagining amusement on the director’s voice.

“Told you,” he couldn’t resist muttering, and Clarke glared at him.

“I have a new assignment for the two of you.”

In a moment, Clarke’s glare was directed at the director, and Bellamy was doing his level best to not preen.

When they were dismissed, her steps were quick and he could practically hear her mind churning as she processed the new arrangement.

Walking towards them through the marbled halls of the FBI Field Office was Raven, Zeke, and a tall man he didn’t recognize.

“Remind me again why you’re not in prison?” the stranger asked, and Zeke shrugged it off.

“Yeah, no, I’m a hero now,” Zeke said, as the trio noticed Bellamy and Clarke.

Raven launched herself at Bellamy, her arms tight around his neck. “If you ever,” she whispered into his neck, “go AWOL for 2 days without letting me know you’re okay, I will personally fly to Moscow and drag you out.”

“Missed you too, Rey,” he said, smiling as he pulled back.

Clarke cleared her throat. “Doctor Reyes?”

Raven’s eyes lit up as she focused on the other woman. “Agent Griffin,” she said excitedly, extending a hand.

“Pleasure to meet you in person,” Clarke grinned.

Raven beamed, turning back to the other two, and gesturing between her and Clarke. “Do you guys see this??”

“I don’t want to interrupt,” said the man Bellamy didn’t recognize, “because, yes, this is powerful chemistry, but can someone tell me what’s going on?”

Clarke tilted her head at the man. “Monty Green, meet Bellamy Blake. Agent Blake, meet Monty Green--best in the business.”

Bellamy held out a hand. “Best at what?”

“Everything,” Monty and Clarke said at once.

Raven and Bellamy exchanged a look, and decided to let that one go for now.

“They’re sending us to track a sleeper cell in London,” Bellamy said, as explanation.

“Getting on a plane right now,” Clarke finished the sentence, and turned down the hallway to illustrate her point. The rest of the group fell into step behind her, only Bellamy paced her.

“Wait, wait, who is ‘us’?” Monty called.

“As of today,” Bellamy said over his shoulders, “we’re working together.”

“As a team,” Clarke added.

“Lead by me,” they said together. And pretended not to notice the amusement Monty and Raven both seemed to take at that, nor the anticipation they both hid under expressions of exasperation.


End file.
